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by PoseAfterDark (poselikeateam)



Series: Monsterfucking Miscellany [3]
Category: Corruption of Champions
Genre: Altered Mental States, Anal, Anal Birth, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Babies, Bad Parenting, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bestiality, Birth, Birth Fetish, Birthing, Breast Fucking, Breathplay, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Brother/Brother Incest, Bukkake, Canon-Typical Behavior, Childbirth, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Slut, Cock Worship, Come Eating, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Double Anal Penetration, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Elasticity, Episode: s05e08 Birth, Face-Fucking, Facials, Father/Son Incest, Fauns & Satyrs, Fetish, Fucked Up, Giving Birth, Hardcore, Hormones, Humiliation, Humiliation kink, Hyperinflation, Immobility, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Incest, Incest Kink, Inflation, Interspecies Sex, Lactation Kink, Large Cock, M/M, Magic Cock, Magical Pregnancy, Male Homosexuality, Male Lactation, Marathon Sex, Mental Disintegration, Mind Manipulation, Mommy Kink, Moral Bankruptcy, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Multiple Penetration, Multiple Sex Positions, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Human Genitalia, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Orgy, Outdoor Sex, POV Second Person, Pain, Painful Sex, Painplay, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post Mpreg, Power Bottom, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Restraints, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia, Sorry Not Sorry, Spit As Lube, Spitroasting, Stomach Deformation, Submission, Train Sex, Transformation, Verbal Humiliation, Xeno, Xenophilia, belly bulge, belly inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/PoseAfterDark
Summary: You didn't realise how long you've been doing this until you start to notice how many satyrs you've come across lately look a lot like you...
Relationships: Male Champion/Satyr (Corruption of Champions)
Series: Monsterfucking Miscellany [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632859
Comments: 11
Kudos: 339





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**Author's Note:**

> Let's be honest, we all knew this was inevitable. This one is longer, and more likely than not it's also the end for this character, because it's pretty obvious where his future is headed. 
> 
> I had fun with cis mpreg but I think we're going back to trans mpreg next time I add to this series. I was 50/50 on making this another chapter but decided nah, let's just make another one. This series is gonna basically just be the worst kink shit I can bring myself to write. Not necessarily stuff I'm into, but stuff I'm willing to write either way. 
> 
> I was going to make this one No Archive Warnings Apply, but the dubcon got just too close to noncon. Even though he's fully into it, there's no consent given, and the bit at the end (which I won't spoil but eyyy you'll see it) does count. He's not upset about it, but he still didn't consent. So. On that note, the reason I DIDN'T mark it Underage is the way satyrs age after you birth them in CoC makes that kind of impossible to judge. Canonically they're fully grown shortly after they're born so I'm assuming they're just adults. Honestly I just don't feel comfortable writing about underage fucking. But speaking of fucking...
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, you filthy monsterfuckers!

It's gotten normal for you, honestly. Barely a day has passed in this realm that you weren't pregnant, some monster's unholy spawn writhing in your unnaturally distended belly. The only time you've ever spent empty is when you were recovering from the aftereffects of your satyr gangbang adventure. Yes, you know you have a quest, but... well, you've become rather adept at fighting past your swollen gut, learning spells so that you don't have to get too close to something that could hurt your babies. You've also gotten very good at using your sex appeal to win fights. Sometimes, you lose fights on purpose, but more often than not, you drop down and fill your greedy, eager hole with whatever you've just defeated. It's the law of the land, after all, and it's a serious power trip. Back in the village, you'd be called a power bottom, but here, you're an adept warrior.

You love rubbing the hideous protrusion of your belly, squirming and teeming with life more often than not. After all this time, it's never felt any less wrong. You feel disgusting, perverse; nothing has ever made you feel better. The humiliation does it for you so well, that sometimes you cum untouched just thinking about all the eyes on your ugly, round belly. You imagine the people around you judging you, whispering about what a freak you are to keep getting knocked up and coming back for more. It drives you wild, knowing that you're just a cumdump, an anal slut, a nasty freak with a loose hole that's only good for pushing out baby satyrs. 

It's been a while since your gangbang. As much as you loved it, you do have a quest, and being immobile was inconvenient, to say the very least. Still, your overtaxed ass-womb only got a break in the sense that you were taking less. You have been having twins or triplets almost every time since then, every nine days, like clockwork. As soon as you're able to walk, you make your way back to the plains. Sometimes, you don't find any satyrs. Most of them don't bother to fight you, anymore, and anything else that tries is swiftly dealt with. You see Sheila, sometimes, but friendly chats with her are little more than a distraction, albeit a pleasant one. You only fuck her when you're lust-crazy with pregnancy hormones, so if you have a flat tummy, she doesn't flirt too hard. 

Make no mistake: you do go back to the plains while pregnant. You enjoy a good fuck, and the plains are a nice place for it. But also, you wanted to test a theory: could a satyr get you pregnant while you were already pregnant with a satyr baby? How long was the window for whether you could be impregnated again? The gangbang you experienced lasted hours, at least, but you ended up with an obscene amount of offspring leaving your sloppy hole nine days later. You figured out, after much experimentation, that you pretty much had to be fucked back-to-back to be knocked up more than once. If a few hours passed without a satyr blowing his load in your backdoor, it wouldn't be much more than a good fuck. 

Your hands are, more often than not, rubbing your gravid middle, playing with your popped out belly button, pressing back on the bumps where your babies kick and writhe within you. It almost makes you sick, sometimes, but that's part of its allure somehow. Your satyr (Ezbin, he said you could call him; whether that's really his name, you almost don't care) has become a pretty regular friend-with-benefits, and he's gotten a nice hold on your kinks. He says the filthiest things to you when he fucks you, grinding his dick into you until it bulges out under your skin, telling you how disgusting you are. You can't even wait a day for him to blast his huge, sticky, virile load into your well-used guts. You love carrying his young because you're a nasty freak. Your belly's movement gets you off because you're depraved, a shell of the man that stepped through that portal, corrupted in a worse way than the demons you want to get rid of. When he fucks you while you're already pregnant, he presses down almost painfully on your twitching orb of a belly, whispers how grotesque it is, and you cum embarrassingly quickly. Sometimes, when he's balls-deep in your dripping hole, and you can hear the sickening squelching with every thrust, he murmurs hotly in your ear about how you're his, and anyone looking at you can tell. 

Ezbin tortures your belly, sometimes. Not in a way that would hurt his sons, but in a way that always has you writhing in an exquisite pleasure-pain, that highlights the wrongness you feel in your swollen gut. He would pinch your belly button on occasion, before you got it pierced; now he pulls on the jewelry dangling from it, or the chain that connects your nipples. He slaps your belly and your dick, hits your belly and ass and thighs with a switch, presses your middle. He lays you down on your front with a hoof on your back and _pushes down_ , the exquisite, agonizing pressure making you feel like you'll either cum or die, and either one would be okay. Sometimes he'll lay you down on the ground, the grass of the plains tickling your ears, and it's soft and pleasant until he places a hoof on your cock and balls, pressing down slowly until it's almost too much. If you lose control of yourself and cum on his hoof, he expects you to get up and lick it clean immediately, no matter how swollen your middle is. The pain, the humiliation, it does things to you, gets to you in a way that you'd never have imagined. 

Other times, he'll fuck you so slowly, so gently, that you want to cry. He's skilled, and it's too much and not enough all at once, somehow. He likes to toy with you, that's for sure. One day, he had his hand in your ass, fingers toying with and milking your prostate from sun-up to sun-down. You slept for days afterwards. You don't know where either of you get your virility, your insatiability, your near-absolute lack of a refractory period, but you assume it has something to do with the corruption that infuses the land. He likes to fill you up, and then felch his own cum out of you; you found, after trying it yourself, that you like doing the same, on the rare occasion you top someone or something instead of taking it in your hungry hole. It feels like you've been introduced to an incredible world that you'd have never found on your own; you'd never have put your mouth to someone else's ass before... well, all of this. Now, it's one of your favourite things, and since taking a few doses of Reptilium, your tongue is long enough to really make its way in there and do some interesting things. Your own ass will always be your favourite hole to play with, but there's something to be said about giving back every once in a while. 

You've noticed something interesting during your travels to the plains, lately, and it's happening with increasing frequency. At first, it was just one every few weeks, but now, it's every few days at the least. A satyr will be balls-deep inside you, fucking your ass or your throat (or one after the other; you don't even mind which goes first) and, well, they get to talking. Some people (or creatures, in this case) are talkative when they fuck, but this... it goes beyond the standard dirty talk, even here. You still remember the first time. The satyr pulled out of you, and you were focused on trying to clench your ruined hole tight enough to keep his potent baby batter inside of you. He chuckled (fondly, it sounded) and kissed you on your tear-streaked cheek. "Thanks, dad," he had said, "you were fantastic."

From then on, you've heard a lot of things: mommy and daddy, mostly, depending on what they were doing to you; you notice you're called 'mommy' more when they're sucking on your milk-logged chest. One had laughed, liltingly, and said, "It's  
always good to go back to where you came from," before taking off into the woods, his knee-length cock swinging as he trotted away. Another had extolled the virtues of visiting one's parents every once in a while. It should have been disturbing, and you know that, but you love it. It adds to the shame, the humiliation, the wrongness. Not only are you growing a more virile man's babies in your ass-cunt, but you've been doing it long enough that, with alarming frequency, your babies are now putting _their_ babies inside you. How many of them, you wonder with a strange mix of shame, horror, and arousal, are your grandchildren too? How many generations of satyrs have come out of your sloppy fuck-hole, only to breed you with the next generation not long after? It was so depraved, adding layers of shame to the already overwhelming wrongness you already associated with your unnatural pregnancies, that you can't help but wonder if it's what finally broke you. There is no doubt in your mind that you are broken now, after all; you would never want to go back to your old life, even if you could. 

Every morning you wake up so debilitatingly horny that you can't focus. Masturbation hardly does anything anymore, at least not the normal way. You can't cum on your own unless you're playing with your belly, too, reveling in the feeling of something growing in your bowels, where nothing ever should. You realise at one point that it's no longer shocking to others, to see you this way. You're barely spared a second glance anymore, and it... well, it takes away some of the allure, really. 

So, as awful as it is, you go a few months without being knocked up. At first, people do a double-take when they see you, tummy flat as the day you came through the portal. Your cheeks flush against your will at the attention, and though it feels strange to be empty, you endure. You simply remind yourself about how much better it will feel, how different, when your body is no longer used to the fullness. 

It's maybe three months before your resolve breaks. Three months of only getting fucked by things and people that can't knock you up, three months of rubbing your empty belly at night, three months of your hole tightening up again, three months without your precious satyrs. Nobody finds it odd that you're not pregnant anymore, having gotten used to it far quicker than you; truthfully, you've never gotten used to it. You don't think you ever could. 

You're in the plains again, a man with a mission, before you're knocked to the ground from behind. You reach for your Beautiful Sword, before you feel lips on your ears. A shudder runs down your spine as a deep voice murmurs directly into your ear, "Have you been avoiding your sweet babies? We missed you, mommy." 

The fight goes out of you immediately, and your eyes glaze over with lust. You've been so empty, lately, and you just want them to fill you up again, put your own grandchildren in your belly; you want to make them feel so good, to make up for being gone; you never want to leave again, making more babies for them until the day you die--

"Oh, we can definitely arrange that, mommy," he says, and you didn't know you were saying it all aloud until now, but you don't mind. You almost don't register the 'we', but more satyrs are coming out of the tall grass of the plains, surrounding you, and your mind jumps back to that last, wonderful gangbang. This time, though, you _know_ these satyrs; most, if not all of them have some feature of yours, if you look closely enough. This one has your hair, that one your eyes, your nose, your dimples, your skin tone, your jawline--

These are all yours, you realise. Every one of these was your baby. These strong, handsome young men, about to fill you up like their fathers did. Your belly is going to stretch and grow and writhe with an unnatural pregnancy, life you shouldn't be able to create this way. You're going to be so full, and you can't wait.

"Please," you groan, already stripping out of your clothes like a bitch in heat. "Fuck me, fill me, let mama make you feel good!" 

Some of them laugh even as they jerk their massive cocks, but the one who's been speaking (the leader, you assume; maybe your eldest?) steps forward and says, "Gladly. On your knees, mama. Let your boys take care of you." You kneel without hesitation, and he nods at one of the satyrs behind you. There's a hoof on your lower back, and you fall forward. "That's it, mama, ass up," he tells you, and you struggle to raise your hips higher for him. The hoof moves, just long enough for him to grab you by your hair and pull you up to eye-level with his throbbing cock. "Why don't you give your baby a little kiss?"

You don't hesitate a moment, opening your lips wide and taking as much of him into your throat as you can. You've sucked lots of cock here, and you like to think you've gotten pretty good, but you want to be more than 'pretty good' for your boys. He doesn't let you move your head, keeping a tight grip on your hair, so it's sloppy and wet, drool and precum dripping down your chin. "Oh, mama," he says pityingly. "Let us help you out a little." 

His hands grip your head tightly and you're being fucked, just like that. Your mouth is his toy, your throat bruising from the raw, rough treatment. He fucks right past your gag reflex, and you do your best to relax so all of him will fit. You can't really breathe, but you do your best not to worry about it; you know your babies will take good care of you, after all.

It's not long before he pulls you off of his cock, now dripping with your spit and his pre; you go to chase it with your tongue, but he holds your head in place, laughing. As soon as he lets go, that hoof is on your back again, and you breathe heavily, just letting them do whatever they want with your body.

He laughs, circling around you slowly, and when he's behind you the hoof on your back moves away. You can't help but whine at the loss of contact. 

"Oh, you're so _needy_ ," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Don't worry; your babies will take good care of you. Keep that pretty ass up." And without any warning, his thumbs are in you, spreading your hole apart. It burns, it burns so good; you were right, it was worth not stuffing your hole for a while. You love how _new_ it all feels, the intrusion, the ache, the stretch. "Wow, mommy," he says, spreading you wider. "You really tightened up your little fuck-hole for us, didn't you? Such a thoughtful mommy. It's almost hard to believe this is the hole we came out of. Do you remember us stretching you wide? Our little shoulders?" He spits into your hole, and you're not sure if you're worried or hoping that this is the only prep you'll get. "Let us show you how much we've grown."

He presses into you, his entire shaft spearing into your boycunt in one, and you keen, overwhelmed by the surprise and the pleasure-pain. You feel something in you tear, you’re sure of it. You can’t bring yourself to care.

Your hole is so full, you feel so stuffed, you can’t breathe. “Please,” you choke out, before he sets a brutal pace, fucking into you like you’re nothing but a cocksleeve. You don’t think you can handle anything else inside you -- you know you have, but you’re so tight now, and the noises he’s making behind you only highlight that fact. Each breath you take is a ragged gasp, and your babies only give you enough time to catch your breath before another delicious, wonderful cock is being forced into your mouth, and your head is in one of your sons’ hands as he fucks into your mouth. 

There’s a rhythm at first, like a perfectly choreographed dance. They’re in sync, one pushing in as the other pulls out, but as they get closer to their own climaxes, it’s just movement, hard and fast, and now your hands have cocks in them too. One of them slides under you to take your cock in his own ass, and you hear someone laugh and say, “Takes after daddy, I guess!” 

You’re not even paying attention to your own orgasm, how close you are or how many you’ve had; all that you care about is being good for them, of the cock bulging through your stomach. You’d be moaning like a two-gem whore if your mouth wasn’t stuffed. Finally, your little boy erupts, spurting inside your ass like a fucking geyser. It hurts, the way your belly bloats with his potent cum. You haven’t felt yourself stretch like this in _months_ , and you take your hands off of the cocks in them to rub your tummy as it grows and swells. It isn’t long after that the one in your mouth cums. You do your best to lick it clean before it’s replaced by another, and you feel two lining up against your asshole now. 

For just a second, you panic, terrified that they won’t fit, but you don’t have much time to think about it. The first one pushes in, and you barely have a moment to adjust before the second is ramming in, the blunt head stretching you almost beyond your limit. 

You lose yourself in the deluge of cum and cocks. It’s longer than your first gangbang, but this time, there’s no part of you that isn’t being used. Your mouth takes as many loads as your ass, and your face and body are dripping in a thick layer of cock juice. By time they’re done fucking you, you can already feel a hard lump inside your sloshing tummy; you’re definitely pregnant, and you’re going to be _huge_. 

This time, you don’t make it back to your campsite. Your baby boys are there to take care of you in every way as you swell with their young. They roll you onto your side, so your hole is always accessible, but there’s not too much pressure on your growing orb of a stomach. It thrashes unnaturally, and you know that it’s sick, it’s wrong, it’s worse than ever; these are your babies, and they’ve seeded you like a breeding cow. 

There isn’t a moment when there aren’t hands rubbing your grotesquely bloated middle over the nine days of your pregnancy, and it’s not always your own. They massage you constantly. When your tits grow, they’re always being sucked and milked, only making them rounder and fuller. After all, your sons reason, you’re going to need to be able to feed a lot of boys with them. When they’re not being emptied, your tits are being fucked. You’re fed a steady diet of wine and cum, and you feel like some kind of perverse deity. 

Nothing has ever felt so wrong and so right at the same time, and you’re almost dreading the birth; you wish you could spend the rest of your life like this. Luckily for you, when you bring it up, you’re promised that you can, you will. Your life will be spent as a grotesque broodmother, your deformed stomach thrashing with life until you die; you’ll be bred and filled forever. Not always this much, of course; you have to finish your quest, but more importantly, you have to let everyone see what you’ve let your own children do to you. 

For nine blissful days you’re pampered and fucked like it’s your one purpose in life. When your waters finally break, there are two fists and a cock in your hole, now loose and sloppy again from all the breeding. You beg them to stop, to let the babies out, but they refuse; you have to take care of all of your babies, after all, you need to make the one fucking you cum before you can let the others out. Weakly, fighting your contractions, you try to clench your ass around him, to speed up the process. It feels like ages before he finally cums, and when he pulls out, his brother comes out of your hole, covered in birthing fluids and the elder satyr’s juices. 

An orgy breaks out around you as you squeeze and push, spreading yourself as wide as you can. The smell of sex and the feeling of your young squirming inside you only turns you on, and you want to be embarrassed. Instead, you moan helplessly, begging for anyone to touch your aching cock. 

Usually, when you give birth, your babies run off as soon as they’re grown; however, this time, they stick around. Perhaps it’s the orgy surrounding you as you bring them into this world. Most of them join in. Some, however, stay with you. They suck your engorged tits, milking you mercilessly. Some mouth at your red rocket, your balls. Between births, the babies that come out of you grow up and fuck you full. Maybe a quarter of the way through, all of your little ones are birthed drenched in their brothers’ spunk. 

It’s a long time before you’re finished birthing, and when the last one falls from your used-up fuck-hole, you pass out. 

When you wake, you look down; you expect your belly to be flat, but to your shock, there’s a little bump. 

“Sorry, mama,” one of your new babies says. Only a handful have stuck around, but he’s the one who’s stayed by your side. He pats your slightly distended belly fondly. “I couldn’t help myself.” You realise immediately what he means, as you feel the unmistakable stirring of new life within your well-bred guts.

Your sons had meant what they’d said: you’ll never be empty again.


End file.
